


Ad Sidera Visus

by sprx77



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Ignore me I'm procrastinating, M/M, Multi, This is not the TRC fic I had in the works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:44:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: Ronan Lynch says fuck a lot. Blue Sargent has her eyes on the stars and a tug in her heart. Adam is dangerous and feels adrift, needs a purpose. Henry Cheng is there from the beginning, this time, instead of an afterthought.Gansey crash lands on earth in a Galra escape pod almost a year after the Kerberos Mission failed.Three cadets and a drop-out embark on a rescue mission.





	Ad Sidera Visus

**Author's Note:**

> Title= "Eyes to the stars." Latin because the Gangsey is like that.
> 
> Don't look at me like that, I'm only procrastinating a little bit.

It’s freeing, in a way. They’d never been particularly poor, nor her mothers particularly demanding of her. She could have dressed like this at any time she wanted and they would have laughed, but encouraged her-- so she never felt the rebellious need to. It wouldn’t have been rebelling. Instead she wore jeans and soft T-shirts and dedicated her passions to more worldly pursuits-- namely, physics.

And if being a physics genius from a loving and moderately-well-to-do home seemed incongruous with choppy, uneven hair and leather jackets and combat boots-- well, that was what she was going for.

Blue Sargent had no family to speak of; certainly no connection to the Kerberos mission or any of its personnel.

-

Blue put up a passable effort in her classes. Most of her classes, anyway. The computer stuff was hard to fake being only  _ decent _ at, when she read binary as easily as English. Likewise, math was her  _ hobby _ , a secret thing between her and Calla, the language that explained the universe and everything in it, could predict star deaths as readily as the weather.

Physics, though-- physics was what her mom was good at, other than flying, because she’d wanted to know  _ how _ to pilot the spacecraft she’d be on, know how it works, know how it  _ flies _ . It’d been fanciful, to her, and there’d been some comfort to the formulae and unchanging constants of the universe. These were the things she’d told a little Blue, rocking her in a strong lap on the beach, love on her tongue and stars in her eyes.

So while math was a game, science was her  _ lifesblood _ , it felt like.

Science was going to take her to the stars in the crafts that math built; science was going to let her find one mom and bring her back to the other.

She sat on the roof of the building, ignoring most of her homework, and listened to her shodilly engineered computer run sophisticated software, complex programs far out-stripping the barely passible hardware.

(When she looked at the stars, something tugged at her. It had always been this way, a distant longing curled under her ribs, breathing when she did. That hasn’t changed; it’s just that now the longing has a name, is named, and if the name doesn’t quite fit-- if she’d felt the pull long before her mother ever became associated with Aglionby Academy-- then she didn’t  _ care _ .)

Blue looked at the stars with determination, now, where the girl she had been had looked at them with awed wonderlust.  _ That _ was where Maura was, and she’d  _ find _ her.

There was no other option.

-

Ronan liked-- well, shit, it didn’t matter what Ronan liked.

Ronan could  _ breathe _ when he was going faster than any approved speed limit, hover cycle not as satisfying as the kind of deathwish fuel-burning land vehicle he had once built out of contraband and pure frustration. The exhaust and gas fumes had felt almost like he imagined smoking felt like, a hundred years ago when that was a thing.

Sometimes Ronan felt like he was born in the wrong century, like everything was too sensible and safe. No wars, no hard drugs, no way to escape his own goddamn head except to drive so fast his useless thoughts were left in the dust.

He missed his bike. It was probably the most illegal thing he’d ever done-- a high bar, that one-- and it felt  _ good _ , like he was one step from death when he rode it and nothing had ever made him feel more alive.

It wasnt the illegal motorcycle, wasn't quite the same, but he could breathe when he pushed the stolen and hacked hover-cycle, crossing wires until it went faster than it was  _ allowed _ to go. He still couldn’t outrun his anger and fear.

Ronan missed  _ flying _ , but not so much as he missed Gansey, either trapped in space or held hostage at some dummy facility of the Academy’s, unable to leave because of something he’d seen or done on the Kerberos mission.

Canyons and desert raced by him, the night sky so un-polluted and vibrant out here he could see the fucking milky way and all it’s constellations, but Ronan couldn’t appreciate it.

There was a howling in his head, a pounding rhythm of  _ soon, soon, soon _ that got louder as the spin of the world approached the date the stupid fucking runes insisted  _ something  _ would happen on.

An arrival. A beginning. They weren’t clear about what, beyond the fact that it was big-- huge. Half the secret caves in the area were marked with lion carvings, blue and blue and bluer still, and all the runes pointed to tomorrow being  _ it _ .

Ronan couldn’t sleep with that kind of shit on his mind, not when tomorrow was on the horizon and Gansey’s last words were louder than his old bike’s roaring in his ears-- certainly louder than the pissant hover cycle that hummed tamely.

_ “While I’m gone, dream me the world.” _

A fucking cryptic, faraway smile and dancing eyes and no fucking idea that when he was gone, he’d taken Ronan’s world with him.

-

Adam and Henry weren’t fast friends, except for how they totally were.

Adam was all focus and ambition, wrapped up in a stressed little package. Henry was theatrical. Theatrically languid, in a way that had originally gotten under Adam’s skin and made him furious; theatrically sarcastic, theatrically bored, theatrically cavalier about his interest in flying and missions and technology.

For Adam, who was very much the salt of the earth, it had gotten old quickly. Quickly enough that he had time to notice everything  _ else _ about Henry-- the quiet moments, the winning smiles even when he was being a jackass in various shades of hyperbole, the way he concentrated on engineering and consoles even when, or perhaps especially when, his mouth was running a hundred miles faster than his hands-- and for reluctant fondness to settle in to the left of his heart.

They were a pair of sarcastic assholes together, could exchange banter under the cover of night in their shared rooms when sleep eluded both of them. Henry was never quite as-- prickly. Or as defensive an asshole as Adam could be, thorns around his heart and emotions churning like rapids, frustration inhibiting happiness more often than he’d like, anger surging unbidden through him, old wounds and scars itching sometimes no matter how far away he gets from his old home and old  _ family _ .

But Adam is a wry asshole, most times, lips wrung in humor and the occasional fits of exasperation, and Henry delights in summoning those smiles, pulling them out of surly Adam like pulling teeth. Adam is  _ funny _ , Henry knows, once he can be summoned from his own miseries.

The miseries are only echoes, now, and if Adam never goes home for summer vacation, well-- Henry helps him build happy memories, come out of his shell and build his new, unhurt person, find a self that is like the old but with two years of new skin partially eclipsing the old.

Henry isn’t sure Adam  _ realizes _ he’s becoming, quickening into who he might have been without the scars and trauma, but every day they’re getting further and further away from what he went through and every new smile is a happy memory to buffer and offer distance from the sucky ones.

-

The hard armor Adam had brought with him to Aglionby had long ago cracked, brittle and unyielding as it was. He’d worked himself into exhaustion three months in.

Henry, his roommate, had been frankly astonished it took so long and, also, horrified when he realized the extent of the damage he was doing to himself.

It took quite a while to get it through his brilliant but thick head that doing too much and not resting properly did more  _ harm _ than good, two steps forward but three steps back.

Now, he was a lot more relaxed, and two years later often wrestled with something else-- impatience. He loved flying, yet often got too mad, too quickly, couldn’t keep up with his own expectations of himself and everyone else. Under normal simulations he was textbook perfect, jaw tense and movements a tad bit jerky-- at least, compared to Ronan Lynch, who flew almost  _ sloppily _ , easily, taking the shuttle simulator through smooth turns and gentle landings and eeking out of the machine scores unseen by any in the program so far.

Lynch, of course, didn’t give a shit about the records he broke, storming off and storming away, breaking rules and shouting in the instructor’s faces. He hadn’t been like that with his keeper around. But with rich prodigy Gansey missing-presumed-dead, he was like a rabid dog off his leash. From irreverent to dangerous in the blink of an eye, and it wasn’t really a surprise to Adam when he dropped out. Henry was amazed he didn’t get kicked out, first, but Adam figured Lynch prefered leaving, like everything else he did, on his own terms.

Normal simulations were okay.

_ Exam _ simulations, with Whelk constantly comparing him to Lynch and veritably breathing down his neck, are an entirely different scenario. This was only their second semester of being allowed to use the flight simulations, but even with short, supervised uses last year, Lynch had ruined the curve for everyone before dropping out. Adam’s flight team was Henry Cheng and Blue Sargent, who barely spoke to each other and still managed to vacillate between lackadaisical in general and humorously civil, and competitively at odds in the weirdest way.

Adam, their pilot-- who had anger issues and anxiety issues and could hardly stand to hear shouting  _ anyway--  _ lost his cool much faster under the pressure and frustration on the days where they vied for success, but still crashed and burned even when they  _ didn’t _ .

They had the worst scores on exams out of their entire class. Only the fact that they were all three geniuses willing to overwork themselves to stay in school and make the grades in regular class saved them from getting kicked out.

So it was with anger and frustration a hot tide in him that Adam agreed to follow Blue. The walls of their dorm had been closing in on him all evening, the echo of Whelk’s shouts still loud in his ears, and if he didn’t get  _ out _ he was going to scratch all his skin off.

It wasn’t a good idea, probably, but in this mood Adam couldn’t  _ care _ .

He’d been bludgeoned over the head with the glaring fact that he wasn’t golden boy Richard Gansey, or even as talented as Ronan Lynch, drop out extraordinaire-- as though that was a decent benchmark by anyone’s metric-- and he wanted to do something reckless.

Something  _ Adam _ .

The dawning grin on Henry’s face made it totally worth it.

-

Blue was on the roof.

Adam wasn’t particularly afraid of heights. To be fair, though, Adam wasn’t particularly afraid of anything. He greeted situations that scared the average person with a bloody grin and anger, maybe, but never fear.

Fear was beat out of him a long time ago. 

Often he thinks the only thing he feels now are different shades of anger. Right now, for instance, is the pissed-off anger at Whelk that leaves him feeling like he’s got something to prove, a recklessness churning in his blood that means he’s probably going to make bad decisions tonight, but regret none of them.

“Well this isn’t regulation,” Adam finds himself saying, shooting a glance at Henry who looks delighted at the rule breaking and--

“Is that  _ contraband? _ ”

“Nothing forbids homemade devices. Also: get fucked, Parrish.”

Blue doesn’t turn in their direction, focused on the screen to such a degree that there’s a fold between her brows.

“What are you doing up here?” Adam asks, curiosity piqued. It’s not a good combination; recklessness and curiosity. That’s how he ends up in places he’s not supposed to be, scaled fences and ducking search lights.

“Minding my own business,” Blue snipes. “You should try it sometime--  _ don’t _ touch that.” She glares at Henry, who’d very much intended on touching.

He gives her a winning smile.

“Come on, I  _ guarantee _ I can build it better. You’re better with code than parts, it’s why I’m the engineer and you’re the navigator-slash-helmsman--”

She slaps his hand without looking. Henry had once again drawn closer.

“I swear to god, Cheng-- you can’t build it better because I’m  _ not letting you disassemble it _ .”

“I don’t need to disassemble it, per se…”

“Reach forward one more time and you pull back a stub.” Blue says flatly.

Henry raises both hands in supplication.

The sun has just set. It’s dark enough that Adam isn’t worried about getting caught. Past curfew, yeah, but the guards they snuck by on the inside were the only guards.

He feels like pushing boundaries.

“Is this about the Kerberos mission?”

Blue whips around, black-ringed eyes and hardass stare.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you look like you want to murder Whelk every time we crash and he tells us we’ll wind up just like them, obviously.” Henry says. His eyes are fixed on the hardware.

“The  _ Maiden _ didn’t crash due to pilot error!” Blue hisses, tossing off her thick headphones.

“Then what was it? Golden boy Gansey certainly didn’t steal the ship.” Adam didn’t have a problem with Gansey, exactly. Whelk did, and so did a lot of the instructors, though most remembered him fondly even as they used him as a whip to urge the other kids to his level.

“I don’t know.” Blue says, and it’s the calmest thing she’s said so far. “But I’m going to find out. I’ve been getting strange readings from that region of space, radio waves originating from  _ outside _ of the Kuiper belt.”

“You think maybe the  _ Maiden _ flew outside of its range?” Henry asked, sitting up from his attempt to slyly stretch a hand past her, hardware forgotten. He crosses his legs like a little kid, hands falling into his lap.

“No.” Blue answers shortly. “These are from  _ way _ past the kuiper belt. Past-- past the edge of our solar system, actually, though they’re getting closer.”

A beat.

“Are you saying  _ aliens _ ?” Henry yells, eyes wide with disbelief. “I mean, that’s rad as fuck, but--”

“I’m not saying  _ anything _ . I don’t know if it’s our ships, some covert Academy project they don’t want us to know about, or some government thing further out than they’ve told the public--” She bites off the sentence with a growl.

“I intend to find  _ out _ , though.” She shoves the headphones back on. “The messages have been increasing in frequency, all repeating the same phrase--”

Blue turns back to the computer just in time for a violent green  _ comet _ to crash down to earth, barely a mile away. The shockwave is intense enough to shake the building. Immediately, alarms flare.

Henry gets to his feet. Blue starts packing up her equipment.

“Shit.” Adam says, “They can’t find us up here.”

“I don’t give a shit.” Blue says, urgency in her tone mirrored by how she shoves everything into her bag at a breakneck pace. Her eyes are feverish. “I’m checking that out.”

“What?” Adam spits, shocked.

Blue swings the back-pack over her shoulder and nearly  _ vaults _ the fire-escape, disappearing over the side of the building.

“Is she  _ serious _ ?” Henry asks, scrambling to catch up.

“Oh, goddamnit.” Adam realizes. “We’ll never be able to sneak back in during all this.”

“Excellent!” Henry grins. Adam gives him a look like he’s insane.

“ _ How _ is that a good thing?” Exasperation.

“It means we can follow her. When everything calms back down, we’ll sneak back in like we never left.”

“You just want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Adam’s heart is hammering in his chest.

“And you don’t?” Henry demands. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened since we got here!”

The sound of instructors and privates moving and shouting below is becoming a cacophony of noise. They need to move.

Henry whoops as quietly as he’s able when Adam laughs, incredulous at his own daring, and flings himself over the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time.

-

Ronan has been up all night and all day, waiting as patiently as he can, which isn’t very. He’d nearly worn a hole in the dirt floor of his shack pacing.

Then, the comet.

The ship crashing to earth. It had only taken a cursory bit of staking it out to figure out the best way in-- he’s long since memorized the way the Academy does things, from the inside and from countless guerilla strikes on supply trucks and infiltrations to try to find anything on their systems about the Kerberos mission.

He knows how they move, how they set up guards, and just how to swing this.

For once, he doesn’t have to be careful. Something tells him, a resurgence of the feeling he’s hand since he moved out to the dessert no longer a countdown but chanting  _ now now now _ , and if Ronan can trust anything it’s his instincts.

He sets off some frag grenades, lifted from the very same pseudo-military personnel he’s distracting now on an earlier rade, and goes in under the cover of smoke and panic.

Shoving down the mask covering his mouth, he almost loses his feet when he sees what’s lying on the table. Or rather: whom.

He’d expected a clue, or some intel, not  _ Richard Gansey the Third _ himself strapped to a table like a lab rat and like a miracle from god.

“Fuck, you’re so pale.” Ronan says, running to his best friend. Please, fuck,  _ please _ \--

A pulse.

Thank fuck.

“Okay, you fucker, time to go.” He’s going to yell himself  _ hoarse _ as soon as he nurses Gansey back to full health and finds out what the hell has been going on.

Movement by the door has him whirling, knife in hand.

“Fucking  _ Lynch? _ ” He hears, and it’s not Academy personnel but cadets; students in casual wear. He doesn’t have time for this.

Ronan cuts Gansey’s bindings, slings one limp arm over his shoulder.

“Get out of the way.”

“Oh no,” A girl says, short choppy hair and an unfamiliar face. “I’m finding out what happened on the Kerberos mission and you’re  _ not _ going to stop me.”

She steps up and gets in his face like she isn’t five foot nothing,  _ max _ .

“We don’t have  _ time _ for this!” Ronan yells, the sound of harsh footfalls getting closer and more organized.

The girl huffs but takes Gansey’s other arm. Together, they manage to get him out before the armed guards regroup-- but only just.

“Stop!” Someone shouts, and Ronan sets Gansey down on the hover cycle.

“Room for all of us?” An asian guy asks, slinging a leg over like he was born to ride.

“Not really, but the fuck does it matter?” Ronan barely waits for the other dude and the pint-sized girl to get on before he revs the engine, turns the cycle on and  _ flies _ before the infantry can mount up into a calvary and give chase.

He’s thankful for every fucking second he spent jury-rigging this baby with only speed in mind.

Of course, the fucking Academy militia eventually get their heads out of their asses to follow, and they may have superior vehicles but they  _ don’t _ have maneuverability on their side. Plus, Ronan can outfly the best of them and he knows these cliffs, has spent the last however-fucking-long memorizing their faces and secrets.

“Over my dead body,” He snarls, both hands on the steering but wishing he had another to hold onto Gansey. A quick look back-- the  _ only _ one he can spare with this kind of high-stakes and high speed chase-- shows the rovers are gaining on them and the girl has Gansey clutching in both hands and fire in her eyes.

“Drive, asshole!” She yells.

“Drop him and I’ll fucking kill you.” Ronan shouts right back.

“Adam, hold onto me,” Says the girl, who adjusts her grip. The other boy must do it, and they’d better hope Gansey’s secure because if not--

But Ronan has to focus on the breakneck pace he’s set, urging all the speed he can out of the cycle. A few sharp turns slam one of the following vehicles into a cliff-face, another ramming into it and going down as well in a crash of fire and smoke, leaving way too many.

He’s got to lose them-- letting them get Gansey is  _ not _ an option, especially not with how he as strapped to a gurney in a fucking  _ quarantine _ , the government planning to do god knows what to him-- but how? 

Finally, he sees an option, and it’s crazy but--

“Hold on!” He tells them, and drives off a cliff.

If he hadn’t spent actual fucking months testing this fucker to its absolute limits-- but he had, and the anti-grav mechanism holds, even if it makes for a bumpy ride a hundred meters down as they straighten back out.

“You’re insane!” Shouts the boy, the non-asian one.

“It fucking worked, didn’t it?”

He doesn’t dare slow down; neither does he take a circular route, counting on the cliff-thing to buy him enough time. Hover cycles don’t leave tracks, not like a contraband motorcycle, and he never thought he’d be glad to have this one instead of the other.

Ronan takes a straight-line shot to the cabin and parks gently. Fuck knows what kind of injuries Gansey took  _ crash landing onto the planet. _ He turns as soon as he’s able, desperately taking in pale skin and dark hair, only now noticing-- as his heart calms down-- the extra bits.

Like how there’s a white streak in his hair, how the hair is longer than usual, a myriad of scars painting the skin he’s showing and, oh yeah, how he’s  _ missing his fucking arm _ .

There’s a shiny prosthetic in its place, dangerous and high-tech looking.

Ronan swallows and feels his heart in his throat.

“What  _ happened _ to you, Gansey?” He asks, voice rasping out. He hasn’t had much cause to talk in ages; all the shouting he did earlier has really abused his voice. He can’t bring himself to care.

The girl looks up, Gansey’s shoulders still cradled in her arms.

“I’m going to find out.” She swears.

He doesn’t know what stake she has in this-- or even her fucking name, though that’s true for all of them-- and he’ll never admit how glad he is he doesn’t have to puzzle this together on his own, even if half of his brain is screaming about strangers and trust.

They’d helped him save Gansey; that went a long fucking way towards being trustful, in Ronan Lynch’s book.

“Let’s get inside and compare notes.” The non-asian one says. Now that Ronan let’s his eyes settle on him for more than two seconds, he registers brown hair and sharp features-- cheekbones, brow ridges, nose. His lips are a bitten pink and Ronan has to shake himself, irritated.

Not the fucking time.

“Ronan Lynch,” He says, offering a hand.

The boy’s brow furrows, one side of his lip tugging up in a disbelieving smile. The flash of teeth and a similar flash of  _ danger _ along Ronan’s spine. Jesus fuck.

“I know. Adam.” He shakes the hand, then looks over the others, sharp eyes picking out any injuries or-- fuck, Ronan doesn’t know, but it’s competent. Sure. A gaze he doesn’t want to be on the other end of.

“I’m fine.” The other boy says immediately. “Henry Cheng, by the way. I’d shake your hand but there’s not really a point and also, I should help Blue with Richard Campbell Gansey III.”

The girl-- Blue, apparently, and what the fuck kind of name is that?-- rolls her eyes but accepts the help. Between them and Ronan they get Gansey settled on the only cot in the shack.

“He’s not supposed to be this pale.” Ronan isn’t aware he’s said it out loud until Cheng grunts, agreeing.

“I thought the mission failed. Not surprising that the government would cover it up, though.”

Ronan looks to him. “You know something about government cover-ups?”

And if it comes out aggressive, accusative and angry, well. Ronan’s a lot of A-words.

“You could say that, yeah. Got some family on the  _ other _ side of the law, not that any of us can talk after all that.” The boy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Adam and Blue walk in from the outside.

“We hid the bike.” Blue announces primly. “Covered it in dirt so the red wouldn’t catch the eye. Nice choice in getaway vehicles.”

It sounds like an insult. Ronan doesn’t have the energy to bristle properly.

“Well, next time we’ll let you steal the government property and manually override the safety protocols, alright?” It’s bitten off, but the girl’s eyebrows fly up.

“You rooted a hover cycle?” She sounds impressed. Of-fucking-course.

“So?” He’s defensive, sue him. There are a lot of people in his space,  _ Gansey _ is either unconscious or in a goddamn coma on his bed, and the tide of urging in his head has gone from  _ soon soon soon  _ to  _ now now now _ in the course of a day. It’s faded, some, and changed over the course of the rescue mission, but he doesn’t have time to analyze it.

“I’m impressed, that’s all. Cool your tits, flyboy.” She doesn’t break eye contact, chin raised defiantly. “And by the way? We stole a truck to  _ get _ to the crash site.”

Adam snorts, then looks surprised that he did. Blue tosses her backpack to the wall and settles down beside it, raising her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. He’d say something, except she looks like she’s settling in for the night, eyes focused directly and unwaveringly on Gansey like he holds all the secrets to the universe.

“I’ll take first watch.” He settles with. They all took the same survival classes he did.

“Fuck that,” Says Adam. “You look exhausted. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Fine.” Ronan snaps. “ _ You _ take first watch.”

Adam looks at him, steady and nonplussed. “Alright.” He says easily enough.

He turns and heads out the front door.

Ronan feels stupidly thrown.

“I’m going to see about food. You have anything here?” Henry says, in a disgustingly chipper tone. He also sounds expectant, and it’s odd, but Ronan has had a day.

He points to the pantry wordlessly.

“Oh, and Lynch?” Says Henry. “Don’t worry about Adam. He’s gonna throw you for a loop sometimes, until you get to know him.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Cheng pops his lips on the ‘p’. “And then he’ll throw you for a loop  _ every _ time. Frustrating fucker.”

From the corner, Blue makes a noise of vague agreement.

“Good to know.” Ronan snorts.

If he has to have people in his fucking space, at least they’re all as insane as he is.

He passes out sleeping bags to them from his stockpile of stolen survival equipment, laying down and forcing himself to relax despite the relative strangers. He deliberately and shamelessly chose a spot right next to Gansey, just far enough away that he can see the body on the short cot, watch his friend’s chest rise and fall.

Over 24 hours of being awake and doing shit catches up to him the minute he let’s the tension drain from his shoulders. He’s so fucking  _ tired _ . Against all odds-- Gansey in front of him, tentative allies around him-- this will not be a night his insomnia plagues him.

Before he falls asleep, he takes a second to try to detangle the music-feeling-instinct in his head, the one that is chill now but often urges him to do shit like _wait_ or _go_ ** _now_** and brokers no discussion.

He doesn’t quite manage to get a good translation. It’s no longer content to wait or petal-to-the-metal insistent, a flood of urgency. Instead it’s-- weird. Contentment and impatience and patience and excitement, curled up into a rubber-band ball of emotions too far beyond Ronan to decipher.

“Now what?” He mutters, like talking out loud to the half-imagined force pervading this dessert will make it any clearer.

_ Yes _ .

He  _ probably _ didn’t imagine it, but neither is it very helpful. Ugh.

Ronan Lynch sleeps.


End file.
